


Golden Week

by niqaeli



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:33:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niqaeli/pseuds/niqaeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touya Akira knows that the same year Shindou turned professional, he lost something very precious to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Week

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be part of a much longer story but it is unlikely I will ever get off my ass and write the rest and this is fairly well self-contained so here we are.

Touya Akira knows that the same year Shindou turned professional, he lost something very precious to him. Something that made him nearly walk away from Go, from Akira. He does not know what it was, though he has his guesses. Akira wants to ask what, ask why, ask if it has anything to do with Sai, with Shindou's endless strangeness; wants desperately to know if he is right. He thinks of asking but can never bring himself to do so. Not knowing is better than being lied to, and he honestly does not know if Shindou would.

And it would, perhaps, be strange to ask after all these years. Shindou came back and it never came up again, really. Shindou's never shown him anything but a determination to play as many games as possible, official and otherwise, and a nearly psychotic adoration for Honinbou Shuusaku. Akira might worry at the past; Shindou is forever throwing himself into the future.

Which is why Akira has no idea what to do or say when he finds Shindou crying, curled over his goban, after showing up at Shindou's place to yell at his rival for standing him up at the salon. Shindou doesn't cry, not like _this_.

Shindou looks up and laughs weakly. "Touya," he mutters. "Sorry. I forgot about our game."

"What happened?" Touya asks, utterly bewildered. "What's wrong?"

"Sai," Shindou whispers. "I -- just. It's Golden Week. And I'm the age Sai was... and I suddenly realised I would never be able to tell your father about Sai. Who he was. I don't know -- I always thought had enough time. I should've known better."

Akira sits down abruptly, because this is not the conversation he had expected, not even when he had walked into the apartment to find Shindou crying. Months later, and his father's death still sits in his heart like a block of ice. He had, perhaps, already mourned his father's Go -- when the former Meijin had retired, it had meant that Akira would never face him in an official match, would never challenge him for any of his titles. But he had not mourned his father, had not been ready for the man who had raised him and taught him to be gone.

Shindou wipes his face and looks down at his goban. "I should tell you," he says. "Who Sai was." He starts laying down stones replaying a game that is seared in Akira's memory, as he tells Akira about Sai of the Fujiwara and a thousand years of Go.

Akira listens and all he can think is: _I am not crazy. **I am not crazy.**_

Shindou's clearing away the stones on the board, again. After he had finished replaying the first game Sai and Akira had played he'd cleared it away and replayed the second, and the third, and the fourth, as he told his story.

Akira looks down at the board for a long moment, stares at Shindou's hands, graceful and neat as they pluck white stones from black. "What did you mean when you said you were the same age as Sai?"

Shindou looks up and there's a brittleness there that terrifies Akira. "I'm 24. That's how old Sai was when he drowned himself."

"You wouldn't have," Akira hears himself saying. He believes that fiercely. Shindou would not have drowned himself in despair. Shindou is alive in a way no one else he knows is.

Shindou's shoulders hunch, but he doesn't reply. "Sorry about our game," Shindou says, instead. "I don't think about... it, a lot. I guess I should have told you sooner. We don't necessarily have all the time in the world. I should know that better than anyone."

Akira doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything.

"Want to play?" Shindou asks as he puts the two goke back on top of the goban.

Akira does, actually. He always wants to play Shindou. But he shakes his head no anyway because he's exhausted and his head hurts and his hands are shaking.

Shindou looks down again at the goban and smiles. "Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome," Akira replies automatically as he staggers to his feet. Halfway up, he pauses to wonder what the hell Shindou is thanking him _for_.

Shindou grins at him; apparently he can tell Akira doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. "For listening," he clarifies. "And for seeing Sai for himself when no one else could. Someone else knowing about him... made me glad."

Akira nods weakly. "Do you have anything to eat here?" he asks, abruptly. His mother would be horrified. He'd be horrified, too, but it's Shindou and his head really bloody hurts and he'd actually kind of like to lie down. And he should eat something, he'd forgotten about lunch entirely by the time he'd finally given up and stormed out of the salon to go chastise his idiot rival.

Shindou stands up and catches Akira's elbow. Akira tries not to focus the warmth of Shindou's hand as he sheepishly admits, "Not really. Unless you count instant noodles."

Akira stumbles into the kitchen and sets the electric kettle going because instant noodles is better than nothing right now and he doesn't think he can face leaving Shindou's flat.

Shindou watches him as he pours boiling water and Shindou looks less frighteningly, horrifyingly fragile, but still worn and bare. "Touya," he says, voice still rough, and that's all.

"Sorry," Akira says and tries not to watch Shindou's throat as he waits for his noodles to cool down. "I didn't eat."

Shindou frowns and shrugs. "I don't mind feeding you," he says. "Though it kind of worries me that you hadn't fed yourself."

Akira should say something meaningful or insightful or... something. Instead he stares at his noodles for awhile and eventually gives up and starts eating. It's fairly awful, honestly, but it's warm and it's food.

"I'm sorry," Akira says again when his hands have mostly stopped shaking. He still doesn't feel particularly well but given the kind of day it's been, feeling well is probably a little much to ask.

"What for?" Shindou asks, confused.

"About Sai. That you lost him the way you did," Akira says. His own father's death had not been expected -- he had been doing fairly well, really -- but it hadn't been a surprise, either. He can't imagine what it would have been like if his father had died the first time he had collapsed.

Shindou flinches a little and Akira drops his gaze back to his food, as though he might read in the noodles what to do or say. He wishes they were better at talking about the important things. They have their Go and a complicated history that seems to lie between them like an unbreachable chasm. Even the truth about Sai doesn't seem to be enough to cross it.

Eventually, Akira gives up on finding answers in his cup. They are what they are. If his head hurt less he might ask for that game but he couldn't possibly concentrate right now. "Do you have anything for a headache?" he asks.

Shindou disappears into a cupboard for a moment and comes back with some tea. "This is all I've got," he says apologetically. "I don't keep much else around."

"Thank you," Akira says.

Shindou starts the tea steeping, and while they wait, brushes a few strands of hair out of Akira's face and Akira's heart catches in his throat. This is one of the things they've never talked about. Akira has no idea what to say. After so many years and -- the choices they've each made, what is there to say?

Shindou flinches again, maybe from Akira, maybe just from what lies between them. Akira wishes he could stop making Shindou do that. It's unnatural to see.

"We should talk," Shindou says, and pours a cup of tea surprisingly delicately.

Akira sips his tea. It nearly scalds his tongue.

"Touya..." Shindou says, and Akira finds himself flinching.

"Talk about -- what?"

"About our mutually fucked up relationships and why we keep doing this to each other," Shindou says. Braver than Akira has ever been.

Still.

"We haven't had enough drama for today?" Akira asks, tired and possibly slightly bitter. In the end, it might be his own doing -- if he hadn't been terrified of losing what he had with Shindou years ago, things might have been very different. But he's not the only one who has chosen others.

Shindou sighs. "We don't have to talk about it right now, just. I don't... I've lost enough," he says. "And so have you. I don't want us to lose anything more, okay? I don't. I don't think Sai would have let me be this stupid."

Akira flinches again when Shindou pulls one of Akira's hands into his own but he doesn't pull away.


End file.
